Strengthen What Remains (Book 2): A Time To Endure

by Kyle Pratt

  Just inside a man with thin gray-hair sat in the corner against the wall on a green plastic lawn chair. A pump shotgun rested on his lap, and he held a jury-rigged switch connected to the door by wires. A nearby TV displayed the outside view of the door, switched to the parking lot and then back.

  The eyes of the guard seemed to be on Caden’s butt as he passed. The thought was disconcerting, however he quickly realized it was not his shapely backside the guard eyed, but the holster on his hip. Then their eyes met and the guard nodded.

  Caden’s eyes lingered on the shotgun for a moment. That’s one way to stop theft.

  The coffee shop at the front was closed. A young cashier hovered around the only store register in use. The others were blocked off with boxes and carts. Caden continued down a thinly-stocked produce aisle. Potatoes, peas and iceberg lettuce were available and a few things he didn’t recognize. He walked past one item that looked like peas, but the sign read “Edamame.” Another looked like onions, but was turnips. Farther along, the canned goods aisle appeared full, but on closer inspection the cans had been pulled forward. The illusion of plenty was a thin façade. Where normally there would be forty or fifty of an item there was now a facing of ten.

  Caden searched out the items the sheriff had mentioned. He found the green beans first. Hoover was wrong; they only cost $4.99 a can. He shook his head. Maybe ‘only’ isn’t the right word to use. Next he came to the corn and sighed. It was $5.29 a can.

  Shaking his head, Caden turned the corner on the next aisle. He had passed fewer than ten people since entering the store and two of them were employees. A woman pushed a cart with a dozen items toward the register. Just behind her was a man. A bored husband, a bodyguard, or both.

  He anticipated an empty meat counter, but when it came in view he saw beef, pork, chicken, and local varieties of fish. The beef and pork are probably from the nearby packing plant. Does Zach supply the fish? He wondered if all the fresh food was local. It seemed likely during the current chaos and upheaval. Signs along the top of the meat counter declared “Ask for prices.” So he did.

  “What are you interested in?” The butcher inquired.

  “That.” He pointed to a whole chicken.

  “Nine dollars a pound.” The man lifted it from the display.

  For chicken? “Thanks, but not today.” What does a steak go for? No, I don’t want to know. Walking away he shook his head. I’ve gained a new respect for livestock on the farm.

  He continued along the back toward the far wall where he saw a small, in store, branch bank. A man with salt-and-pepper hair counted out a large stack of bills for an older woman.

  When she walked away, stuffing the money in her purse, the banker looked at Caden, “Can I help you?”

  Caden shook his head and then reconsidered. After introducing himself he added, “I’m checking prices and trying to understand how the local economy is functioning.”

  The man scowled. “Not well. The woman who was at the counter when you walked up…she’s fairly well situated, but she’s withdrawing savings to buy a few days of food. What happens when her savings run out?”

  Caden nodded. “Hopefully we can get enough aid to hold us over until more can be grown locally.”

  “If we don’t….” He was silent for a moment. “As far as I can tell no one received Social Security payments this month. Those checks were meager to begin with. Now….”

  He shook his head. “If inflation continues at the current rate many of the elderly will soon be homeless and hungry even if Social Security resumes payments.”

  Under the current circumstances Caden couldn’t imagine Hoover evicting little old ladies, but in other places it probably would happen. He looked around, but didn’t see a single customer. “You would think more people would be buying all the food they could.”

  “Most people don’t have the cash to buy here. The place with the most economic activity is the market in Library Park.”

  “Yes, I’ve been there.” And I’ll go there when I leave here.

  The banker continued. “In the past wealth was how many dollars you had, but it doesn’t take much to destroy confidence in a currency. During the terrorist attacks people quickly learned that all the cash they had couldn’t buy them the gas or food they needed. Those things disappeared from store shelves, and the owners were stuck with paper money, but nothing to eat.

  “Since the attacks people spend their dollars quickly for useful or practical things they may need or to use in trade. They still save, but now it’s tangible items or gold and silver, not paper money. That lack of confidence and need for real wealth is being seen as inflation.” The banker shook his head. “I’ve read about it in the history books and seen it in third world countries, but I never thought I’d see a currency collapse in the United States.”

  “If the value of paper money has collapsed, why does the store still accept it?”

  “As it says on all bills, ‘This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.’ The store pays its taxes, lease, electric bill and employees with checks drawn on cash. The bank pays the sublease to the store with a check backed by cash. But everyone is trying to unload the dollars as fast as possible because they are losing value daily.”

  As he walked toward the exit, the older woman stood at the checkout handing over a wad of bills for two bags of groceries. He had no solution for her or the growing number of hungry people and that realization felt like a huge weight pressing down on him.

  Caden nodded to the guard at the door and the old man shifted the gun to one side and flipped the switch. The doors creaked and groaned open. As Caden walked from the store, he realized the soccer game had paused.

  The teens eyed him carefully.

  Caden rested his hand on the holster and stared at the boys for a moment. Then with his eyes forward, but using his peripheral vision to watch them, he walked across the parking lot and on toward his car.

  His thoughts had already turned to his upcoming wedding when he heard the scream. He turned around, but could see only a slice of the store parking lot.

  Caden ran three steps toward the store when the boom of shotgun filled the air.

  He pulled his pistol and ran faster.

  Now he could see the teens running with the old lady’s grocery bags. One was torn spilling cans, but the boys that followed quickly scooped them up and sprinted away behind the others.

  The guard stood in the entryway of the store sweeping his shotgun from side to side.

  The woman leaned against a car with one hand on her chest.

  Caden and the guard reached her at about the same moment. Both asked if she was okay.

  Still leaning on the car and looking down, she didn’t answer.

  “I shot over their heads. Perhaps I should have aimed lower,” the guard growled.

  Caden, his eyes fixed on the woman, didn’t answer. “Are you okay?”

  Hand still clutching her chest, she stared at him with wide frightened eyes. Then she fell to the pavement.

  Chapter Eight

  Bent in half with one arm twisted underneath and the other out to the side, the elderly woman lay motionless.

  “Call 911!” Caden ordered as he knelt beside her. He gently shook her. “Are you all right?” Stupid question. He laid her flat, checked for breathing and a pulse, but found neither and began CPR.

  Movement caught Caden’s eye. A deputy ran toward them speaking into his shoulder radio. The officer took over breathing while Caden performed chest compressions.

  Several minutes ticked by in surreal slow motion. By the time the wail of a siren was heard drops of sweat rolled down Caden’s face and dripped on the old woman’s blouse.

  When the EMTs arrived, Caden stood and backed away. As he did, he saw Hoover trotting across the parking lot.

  Reaching Caden the sheriff said, “The deputy reported Judge Hastings was down. What happened?”

  “She’s a judge?

  “Yes, she was…
.”

  “She was mugged,”

  Hoover shook his head. “I’ll need a statement from you.”

  “And then I think she had a heart attack.”

  The sheriff’s expression slowly changed from sadness to anger. “She was the chief judge until she retired a few years ago…”

  The EMTs lifted the body onto a gurney. There were no more attempts to revive her.

  “…and she was my friend.”

  * * *

  Caden’s trip to the Library Park market was delayed until Monday, but even then he was thinking about the death of Judge Hastings. Conditions in the FEMA camps are worse than here in Hansen. If kids attack people for food here, what is happening in the camps? And will it spread to here?

  The number of sellers had grown, taking over a used car lot across the street. The mixture of music, smoke, colorful tarps and rough wood stalls gave the place a third-world bazaar look. The music seemed to be live, but he couldn’t see the band as he entered the winding lanes covering the park.

  Immediately on his left was a large community bulletin board with a second, new board, beside it. In the center of one was a notice of food aid distribution from the Salvation Army. Sprinkled around it were announcements of church services, a public meeting at Legion Hall, and another told of school opening, but asked students to bring lunch until further notice. On his first trip to the market he had seen a poster pleading for insulin. He didn’t see it this time and wondered if the supply was better or the diabetics had died.

  Farther in the maze stalls sold everything that could be grown during a western Washington winter including spinach, cauliflower and, he read the sign, kale. Stacks of commercial and home canned food items stood at the next stall. Chickens in cages cackled next to baskets full of eggs at the next. Beyond that a man sold firewood.

  He was staring at jars of honey when he felt something pull at his holster. Instinctively, he turned and grabbed at the puller. Just for a moment he held the snout of a goat on a long tether.

  The animal jerked backwards uttering a loud, “baaa.”

  Caden shook his head and walked away. Several minutes later, the goat nibble all but forgotten, his thoughts turned to the vibrancy of this market compared to the emptiness of the grocery store. Dollars changed hands in both and prices were as exorbitant here as the store. However, barter and trade were common in Library Park and ammunition served as an alternate currency.

  In the distance, he spotted a sign reading, “Gold and Silver Exchange.” Nearing the stall he saw a middle-aged man behind the counter buying precious metals for large bundles of paper money.

  As he watched, several people brought rings, necklaces, and other jewelry in exchange for cash. Caden assumed they were using it in the market or nearby stores to buy food and other necessities. He grinned. This guy is acting as a bank for the market.

  Catching a glimpse of something hanging from the man’s belt, Caden stepped across the lane to a food stall. With the change of angle he saw a pistol and holster on the old man’s hip. Caden grinned knowingly. Of course he would be armed.

  Scanning the crowd, Caden also spotted a nearby deputy chatting with a young woman.

  “You want anything?”

  He turned toward the voice. “What?”

  The woman behind the counter smiled, “You’ve been standing at my counter. I wondered if you wanted anything.”

  He looked at several bundles of a leafy plant he recognized, but couldn’t name. “What is this?”

  “Chard or Swiss Chard. I’ve been growing it for years. It’s a very nutritious vegetable.”

  He listened as the woman extolled the history and virtues of various plants and was almost convinced to buy when he realized he had no money.

  As Caden walked on he noticed two Hispanic men, ten yards away, watching him. They turned when he spotted them, and whispered to each other. Then they moved several yards farther down the walkway, but still glanced at both the money changer and Caden. After a moment they spoke to each other and left.

  They appeared to be casing the stall, but they’d be crazy to try and rob the old man with so many people around. Still, why were they looking at me? He remembered he was in uniform with a pistol on his belt. That’s plenty of reason to watch me. They were probably just looking like I was. Heck, I even changed position to get a good view of his pistol. Caden shook his head. I’m being paranoid and maybe a bit racist.

  Caden continued in another direction until he spotted Zach about twenty yards ahead, talking to a pretty blonde girl about his age. Her jeans and jacket were nicer than the casual attire of most at the market.

  On the ground by Zach was a white bucket from which he retrieved a large trout. The girl held out a plastic container and Zach slid in the fish. She kissed him on the cheek and hurried away. The boy watched, until she disappeared around a bend, then he lifted the bucket and walked slowly with his head down, toward Caden.

  As Zach approached, Caden asked, “Is she a friend of yours?”

  Startled, the boy’s head shot up. “Oh, hi…ah, yeah…just a girl from school.” His face grew redder with each word.

  Caden turned and walked with the boy. “I thought you would be fishing.”

  Zach shook his head. “After we set the traps we leave them and I come here to help.”

  Ahead Zach’s sister stood at a stall. A red-haired woman worked beside her. Behind them, sitting in a lawn chair, was a potbellied man with black hair, and a flashy Hawaiian-style shirt. He wondered if the mom had remarried or if the man was just a friend. Perhaps there is a man that can provide some guidance and direction for Zach. Glancing at his watch he asked, “Isn’t the school open?”

  The young man grinned. “Yeah, but right now eating is more important.”

  Caden wondered what his mother thought of that plan. He pointed and asked, “Is that your mom and dad?”

  The boy’s face darkened. “Yeah that’s my mom, but he’s not my father. His name is Bo. Dad had red hair, like my mom…like Vicki.” And then almost in a whisper he added, “Like me.”

  Zach did not elaborate and Caden still didn’t know what role Bo filled in the family, but decided not to ask. He said goodbye and turned back the way he came.

  As he left the market he still wanted to help Zach, but didn’t know how. He wanted to help the community, but he had no answers to the vexing problems of the town. He stopped and looked back. This was the one place in town that had the hustle and bustle that was common before the attacks. Their resourcefulness gave him hope.

  * * *

  At the end of a long day, Caden entered the armory conference room with the duty roster in one hand and the Governor’s Martial law edict in the other. On the large center table was a copy of the Seattle Times. It was the first newspaper he had seen since returning to the state. The headline shouted Hunger in Metro Area. Setting down what had been important, he picked up the Times. The lead story detailed food shortages in Tacoma and the fringes of the Seattle red zone. Also above the fold was the announcement that they were now publishing from temporary offices in Olympia. He glanced over articles about riots and looting. I guess this is the new normal.

  When Brooks walked in, Caden paused his reading. “I forgot to mention yesterday that the sheriff wants help patrolling the towns south of Hansen.”

  Brooks walked over to a map of southwest Washington on the wall.

  On page five of the six-page paper was a small article that quoted an Oregon investment banker: “The Chinese government had been selling dollars for a week before the first terror attack and dumped two trillion in United States treasury bonds on the market the morning of the Washington D.C. attack.”

  He was no economist, but Caden was sure that such an act would crush the value of the dollar. If the report was true, China knew of the attacks before they occurred, and perhaps planned them, and Durant had to know at least that much.

  “We have one patrol south of town, but I don’t see how we can send mor
e,” Brooks said. “We’re already covering over 2,000 square miles. The Tacoma police want us to move our checkpoint on North Road closer to them and now Hoover wants us to patrol farther south? We’re stretched beyond thin.”

  Setting the paper down, Caden looked at the map. “We need more people.”

  “The army could help?”

  He shook his head. “Not unless President Durant decides to restore the Constitution. Every unit at the Joint Base will soon be heading east.” Thinking about what would happen when those soldiers met units loyal to Durant caused him to shudder.

  “If we had money we could recruit people.”

  “We have money, it’s just not worth much, but we also have food and a warm place to sleep.” He looked squarely at Brooks. “Start signing people up.”

  The XO sighed. “I guess we could recruit from the FEMA camps. They can’t be feeding them all that well.”

  Caden thought for a moment. Getting people, even just a few, out of the camps before conditions got worse, was a good idea. “Go ahead, but recruit locals first and then people from the camp.” He picked up his coffee cup from the table and drank the last of the lukewarm brew. Stepping to the side of his desk, he looked at the dark window reflecting his image. “What time is it?”

  “18:30.”

  He dropped the papers. “I’m going home before Maria hunts me down. We’re supposed to go over wedding plans tonight.”

  “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “What?”

  “Lisa said your parents want to get to know me better. They invited me over.”

  Caden laughed. “Be afraid, be very afraid.”

  “Of your parents?”

  Stepping through the door he said, “Of my little sister. She has plans for you.” As he walked down the hall his phone rang. Maria is hunting for me. Then he looked at the caller ID. The sheriff? Quickly he answered the phone.

  “Caden, there’s been an attack.”